


Blackbird and Wren

by clothinghanger



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ambiguous Age, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Birds, Everyone Is Alive, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, Karaoke, M/M, Mild Language, No Smut, Oops, Pre-Relationship, Singing, Stanley Uris Loves Birds, Stuttering, TikTok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clothinghanger/pseuds/clothinghanger
Summary: Bill Denbrough doesn't stutter when he sings.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a headcanon by @m4ddieb on TikTok!
> 
> See if you can catch the 'The Shining' reference.

_The blackbird is a songbird. It symbolizes wisdom, elegance, and beauty. Its behavior is a strong symbol of its intelligence._  
  
_The wren is also a songbird. It symbolizes action, accuracy, watchfulness, and enthusiasm in life._

Stan opened up his closet and grabbed his nice backpack off of its hook. His nice backpack was a durable army green with shiny copper buckles. His grandpa had gotten him it for his tenth birthday, and he loved it, but he never took it to his school. It was a little too large and much too valuable to carry with him, as there was a decent chance it would be ruined or stolen the second he stepped onto school property. He set it on his desk and unbuckled it before opening his dresser drawers. He grabbed the clothes he needed and neatly placed them in the bottom of the bag and placed his other items on top. Deodorant, toothbrush, prescription, book, and hair gel. He only ever used enough hair gel to tame his natural bedhead, because if he used too much he just ended up looking like a greaser from the 50s. Looking around his room he confirmed he had everything he needed without overpacking. It’s really easy to overpack when your mind is constantly flooded with ‘what ifs’, but he was working on not letting his anxiety get the best of him. Bill was always telling him that he worries too much, he liked to say, “You’re even more p-p-paranoid th-than Eddie!” With his backpack on his shoulders, Stan walked out the front door and towards the shed. He always keeps his bike in the garden shed so it stays clean and dry. The rest of the Losers never seemed to take care of their bikes- always just throwing them down instead of using the kickstand. The wind started to bite at his face as he started to pick up speed. The sun was setting and the temperature was falling towards the chill of a late September night. The cool air drawn into his lungs was slightly painful but refreshing and almost cleansing in a certain way. He lulled himself into a sort of torpor as he focused solely on the rhythm of his pedaling.

Stan pulled up to Bill’s driveway and stepped off of his bike. He opened the garage door and set his bike along the wall. The car wasn’t in the driveway or the garage which made Stan a little panicked. _‘What if he forgot?’_ Stan tried to shake the thought as he stepped into Bill’s home. His house was fairly large and well-kept, which meant it was usually lively with the chatter of the Losers Club on any given weekend, but not today. Stan was in the kitchen, the first room you entered when you came in through the garage, and all the house lights were off. Stan’s heart started to beat faster at the eeriness of the desolate house when he heard a noise upstairs. His mind jumped back to the woman in the painting and the rest of the summer’s events, but he quickly calmed himself down. This sound was familiar. The sound of a shower running. Bill had probably just decided to take a shower. A wave of relief passed over him like he was in the shower himself, and he climbed the stairs to Bill’s room, set down his backpack and pulled out his book.

A few minutes into reading, Stan heard Bill talking from down the hall. He marked his page and walked toward the bathroom, as he got closer he realized that Bill wasn’t talking… he was singing. Stan pressed his ear against the door to listen.

_If a breeze caresses me_  
_It's really you strolling by_  
_If I hear a melody_  
_It's merely the way you sigh_

As it turns out, Bill didn’t stutter when he sang. Not only did he not stutter, he was also a great singer. He might even give Frank Sinatra a run for his money. Stan couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across his face from hearing Bill’s voice so effortless and engaging and he walked back to Bill’s room. A few minutes later the shower turned off and footsteps came down the hallway. Stan looked up from his book and saw Bill, wrapped in a towel, walk through his room and towards his closet. It occurred to him that Bill didn’t see him and that he should alert him of his presence before he started changing. _  
_

“Hi.”

Bill jumped and hit his head on the shelf in his closet before turning to Stan like a deer in headlights.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you alright?” Stan asked quickly.

“Oh. I’m f-fine. It's not your f-fault, I knew you w-w-were coming over. I j-just got a little spooked,” Bill smiled, “I’m, uh, g-gonna go change.”

It was 2:37 a.m. and Stan was wide awake and staring at Bill’s ceiling. He looked over at Bill, who was laying on his side facing away from him and sighed. Even as a kid, Stan didn’t sleep well, but ever since IT, he hasn’t even gotten close. He and his parents had tried everything- no TV, no sugar, lowering the thermostat, and even sleeping pills, but his mind never seems to slow down. Bill rolled over and looked at Stan.

“Stan?”

Stan turned his head to look in his eyes, “Yeah, Bill?”

Bill yawned and sat up slightly, “C-can’t sleep?”

“It’s okay, I never really sleep well.”

Bill looked at him solemnly, “Oh, I-I’m sorry.”

Silence fell over the room once more as Bill laid back down, this time laying his hand on Stan’s chest. After a few quiet moments, Stan spoke up.

“Can you sing for me?”

“W-w-what?”

Bill was clearly taken aback by Stan’s sudden question.

“You don’t have to.”

“I-I-I can’t really sing.”

Stan turned onto his side to look at Bill more easily.

“I think that you’re a really good singer. At least from what I heard you singing in the shower.”

The room was quite dark, but even so, Stan could tell that Bill was blushing.

“D-do you really w-want me to sing?”

“Please.”

And Bill started singing the very same song that Stan had overheard from outside the bathroom earlier. And Stan focused on every word and every note, filling the room sweetly until they all started to fade away.

_Whenever its early twilight_  
_I watch 'til a star breaks through_  
_Funny, it's not a star I see_  
_It's always you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> Song is 'It's Always You' by Chet Baker


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. It's because I'm a little bitch.
> 
> Three things:
> 
> 1\. This chapter has swearing, but it's probably less than canon levels so just fyi.
> 
> 2\. I changed some details in the first chapter, but it doesn't change the plot, so don't feel obligated to reread.
> 
> 3\. I'd recommend listening to 'Love Is Strange' by Mickey and Sylvia before reading if you are not already familiar with the song. It's less than three minutes and makes the plot make a lot more sense.

  
Bill was sitting in his bed, sketching in the warm light of his bedside lamp. The pages in his sketchbook were running out, and it would soon join the ever-growing collection of used sketchbooks that lived on his bookshelf. Whether it be a poem, a sketch, a short story, or just a random thought, he always seemed to have something that he needed to jot down. It helps him get out of his head, where he often finds himself lost and wondering. Wondering about what could’ve been done differently.

It’s almost midnight, but he can’t go to sleep just yet. Stan had developed a bit of a routine in the past couple of weeks, which was fairly easy for him. So much of Stan's life revolves around routine. He truly doesn’t know if he can bear to live his life entirely freely, as the more meticulous he is, the more control he feels over the overwhelming feeling that plagues his every day.

Like clockwork, Bill’s phone rang.

“H-hello?”

“Hi, Bill. It’s Stan.”

Of course, it’s Stan. He’s the reason Bill waits by the phone every night. But Bill doesn’t mind waiting for him.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Oh, d-d-do yo w-want-“

“Please.”

Almost every night. Almost always the same conversation. Always the same outcome. Bill put his sketchbook aside, turned off his lamp, and laid back. After a few moments, his gentle singing could be heard through the phone. His voice was soft, just loud enough to be heard on the other side of the line, but it stood out against all other noises. Stan closed his eyes and focused on the sound. The mind that was usually overwhelmed and restless, could finally find solace. The two of them, simultaneously apart and together, falling asleep side by side.

The sun was starting to set as Stan made his way toward Memorial Park. The streets were barren and the clouds hung low, making the air feel heavy and humid.

“Stanthony!”

A familiar voice sounded from behind him, but he didn’t bother to turn around. He kept walking forward, and sure enough, the voice caught up to him.

Richie jumped off of his bike and walked alongside Stan.

“Hanlon’s finally gotten his grandpa’s truck running again, so we’re all going to take a trip.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure you can take a break from knitting or whatever old people shit that you do for fun for like one night.”

Stan rolled his eyes, “As long as I don’t have to sit between you and Eddie.”

“This is definitely not safe.”

Mike’s truck has five seats for the seven of them, but they still managed to make it work, although cramped and uncomfortable.

“You can ride in the bed if you want, Urine. We can strap you down so you don’t fly away,” Richie smirked, elbowing Eddie while Eddie yelled at him. 

Their bickering would eventually become background noise for the rest of the car ride. If you hang out with the Losers enough, you get pretty good at blocking out noise, and Stan had plenty of practice. He turned towards the window and dazed off. The sun was setting, and the light pink clouds hung lazily in the sky. Stan missed the summer. Cotton candy in the air reminded him of the hot Julys spent at the Derry Canal Days Festival. Richie and Eddie would share an ice cream cone, and they would all ride the sketchy rides until they were too dizzy to walk straight. Then they’d ride over to the quarry and swim, and once the sun finally had set, watch the fireworks being set off from a distance. The memories fell away and Stan turned his attention back to Bill in the seat next to him,

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“No, R-Richie is k-keeping it secret. Mike is th-the only other p-person th-that knows.”

Only few minutes later, the truck pulled into a seemingly desolate parking lot.

“Oh my god.”

The neon red sign above the entrance was flickering sporadically, clearly in need of maintenance, but the destination was clear.

_**KARAOKE** _

The small room was illuminated by multicolored lights that made the off-white walls appear as if they were changing colors throughout the night. On one side, there was a U shaped couch surrounding a table. The other side was a raised platform, about eight inches high, with a microphone and speaker setup. The song lyrics were being cast on the room’s west wall from a projector that was precariously mounted on the ceiling, threatening to fall at any moment. The seat cushions were nearly worn through, but it felt as though no one had stepped foot in the room in years.

As expected, Richie was the first to take the mic, and as soon as he did the atmosphere in the room changed wildly. His off-key rendition of Cyndi Lauper broke the eerie vacant feel of the room and replaced it with warmth. Laughter and impromptu duets started up as the night begun, and Stan didn’t mind the chaos. This time, it felt familiar. 

An hour into the night, the only people who had yet to sing were Stan and Bill, and as Richie finished Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’, he handed the mic to Stan. Stan then immediately turned to the person next to him and tried to hand it off.

“Here, I can’t sing.”

“I-I-I can’t either,” Bill replied hastily, looking at Stan with wide eyes.

Stan didn’t respond, but instead, looked at him unbelievingly. He tried to hand Bill the microphone once again, but Bill made no move to accept it.

“Can one of you guys just sing already? I’m getting karaoke blue balls.”

Stan shot Richie a glare before looking back down at the microphone in his hand and standing up. He was nervous to sing because unlike Bill, he actually can’t sing. He’s not completely tone-deaf, he’ll give himself that, but he knows that he just isn’t very good. Objectively, he’s a bit pitchy, but he’s fine with that. Bill, however, is either very humble or very stupid to not realize how great his voice is. 

When Stan got to the stage, he carefully chose his song, took a deep breath, and started.

_Love, love is strange_   
_Lot of people take it for a game_   
_Once you get it, you never wanna quit_   
_After you've had it, you're in an awful fix_   
_Many people don't understand_   
_They think loving is money in the hand_   
_Your sweet loving is better than a kiss_   
_When you leave me, sweet kisses I miss_

About halfway through the song, Stan stepped off of the stage and walked towards Bill. The whole group was looking at him strangely, but he only looked at Bill. ‘ _God, I hope this works_ ,’ he thought to himself.

_“Sylvia?”_

Stan sang lightly and smiled, before holding the microphone up to Bill. Bill looked quite surprised and a bit scared, but still, he sang back.

_“Yes, Mickey?”_

_“How do you call your loverboy?”_

Stan watched Bill’s face flush slightly before he sang the next line.

_“Come ‘ere loverboy!”_

_“And if he doesn’t answer?”_

_“Oh, loverboy!”_

_“And if he still doesn’t answer?”_

Bill then gently took the microphone with one hand, Stan’s hand with the other, and stood up, now face to face with Stan.

_I simply say_   
_Baby_   
_Oh baby_   
_My sweet baby_   
_You're the one_

The laughter and chatter in the room disappeared as soon as Bill started singing, and the room remained quiet for a while afterward. That is until Stan spoke.

“Fuck it.”

He grabbed Bill’s face with his hands and quickly pressed his lips to Bill’s. It was a short kiss, barely a peck even, but it felt like the only thing Stan could do in that moment. He turned away, but before he could regret his decision, Bill turned Stan’s face back towards him and leaned in to return the favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't decide if I wanted a kiss or not, so this is what I did-
> 
> Me: meow if there should be a Stenbrough kiss
> 
> My cat: *meows*
> 
> Me, still unsure: meow if there SHOULDN'T be a kiss
> 
> My cat: *silence*
> 
> Me: well it's decided ig
> 
> So anyways thank my cat if you like the ending, and if it sucked, blame her, I'm just following orders.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading and being patient.


End file.
